Every Which Way But Dead by Kim Harrison

Jenks’s wings audibly dropped. “Crap,” he muttered, then brightened. “Go ahead,” he said to Ceri. “You try working the nuker this time without my help.”
    â€œNuker?” she questioned, carefully wiping her hands on a napkin as she stood.
    â€œYeah. Don’t they have microwaves in the ever-after?”
    She shook her head, sending the tips of her fair hair floating. “No. I prepared Al’s food with ley line magic. This is…old.”
    Keasley jerked, almost spilling his coffee. His eyes tracked Ceri’s grace as she went to the freezer and, with Jenks’s encouragement, pulled out a box of fries. She meticulously punched the buttons, her lip caught between her teeth. I thought it odd that the woman was over a thousand years old but thought the microwave was primitive.
    â€œThe ever-after?” Keasley said softly, and my attention returned to him.
    I held my coffee before me with both hands, warming my fingers. “How is she?”
    He shifted his shoulders. “She’s healthy enough. Maybe a little underweight. Mentally she’s been abused. I can’t tell what or how. She needs help.”
    I took a deep breath, looking down into my cup. “I’ve got a big favor to ask.”
    Keasley straightened. “No,” he said as he put his bag on his lap and started putting things in it. “I don’t know who—or even what—she is.”
    â€œI stole her from the demon whose work you stitched up last fall,” I said, touching my neck. “She was its—I mean, his—familiar. I’ll pay for her room and board.”
    â€œThat isn’t it,” he protested. Bag in hand, his tired brown eyes went worried. “I don’t know anything about her, Rachel. I can’t risk taking her in. Don’t ask me to do this.”
    I leaned over the space between us, almost angry. “She has been in the ever-after the last millennium. I don’t think she’s out to kill you,” I accused, and his leathery features shifted to a startled alarm. “All she needs,” I said, flustered that I had found one of his fears, “is a normal setting where she can regain her personality. And a witch, a vampire, and a pixy living in a church running down bad guys isn’t normal.”
    Jenks looked at us from Ceri’s shoulder as the woman watched her fries warm. The pixy’s face was serious; he could hear the conversation as clearly as if he was standing on the table. Ceri asked him a soft question, and he turned away, answering her cheerfully. He had chased all but Jih out of the kitchen, and it was blessedly quiet.
    â€œPlease, Keasley?” I whispered.
    Jih’s ethereal voice rose in song, and Ceri’s face lit up. She joined in, her voice clear as the pixy’s, managing only three notes before she started to cry. I stared as a cloud of pixies rolled into the kitchen, almost smothering her. From the living room came an irate shout as Ivy complained that the pixies were interfering with the stereo reception again.
    Jenks yelled at his kids and all but Jih flitted out. Together they consoled Ceri, Jih soft and soothing, Jenks somewhat awkwardly. Keasley slumped, and I knew he’d do it. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try it for a few days, but if it doesn’t work, she’s coming back.”
    â€œFair enough,” I said, feeling a huge weight slip off my chest.
    Ceri looked up, her eyes still wet. “You didn’t ask me my opinion.”
    My eyes widened and my face flamed. Her hearing was as good as Ivy’s. “Um…” I stammered. “I’m sorry, Ceri. It’s not that I don’t want you to stay here—”
    Heart-shaped face solemn, she nodded. “I am a stumbling stone in a fortress of soldiers,” she interrupted. “I’d be honored to stay with the retired warrior and ease his hurts.”
    Retired warrior? I